


Ambush

by haliibug



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Age Difference, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Multi, Original Character(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, also your bedroom is a safe room, but only by about three years dw, everyone's gonna make an appearance in this, you are an adult struggling to pay rent with a minimum wage job, you sort of get caught in the middle of everything and you're not here for that, your landlord has a palace for reasons
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:02:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23272165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haliibug/pseuds/haliibug
Summary: In a different circumstance, you would have thought that he looked like a character straight out of those superhero anime you used to watch as a kid.He would have probably been your favorite character.
Relationships: Amamiya Ren (Persona Series)/Reader, Kurusu Akira/Reader
Comments: 23
Kudos: 100





	1. The Window Sill

**Author's Note:**

> me: alright, first fic on this site in four years since i've made an account lets make a good writing impression!  
> also me: lmao let's see how many words i can put into italics  
> anyway i'm sorry for throwing you straight into this hot mess. the introduction part must have been revised abt five different times but nothing was vibing with me.

You collapsed onto your bed with a heaving sigh, hands coming up to massage your temples.

Three days until eviction from the apartment complex.

Tears of frustration blurred the cracked surface of your ceiling, and you shut them so as to not let any escape. _Money_ , you thought, _It’s just the money Nakamura wants._

And it was true; Nakamura Satoshi, your landlord, had steadily begun to raise the cost of rent over the duration of your stay, hardly caring about the welfare of his tenants, regardless of sex or age. Your neighbors pleaded and begged, but it was all for naught; trying to find common ground with a greedy man like that would work about as much as a wheel without an axle.

You had tried every method of negotiation by this point, exhausting every option until you were faced with a single choice.

Start looking for new housing...or put that strange new app and your newfound _ghost friend_ to some better use.

Astonished, your eyes opened. Your blood chilled at the underlying meaning the darker side of your mind carried.

 _What?_ What exactly did _better use_ mean?

_Tap, tap-tap, tap._

It seemed you wouldn’t get to finish that thought. You sat upright, slowly, startled by the sudden noise that broke the silence that came with your troubled thinking. It had come from your window.

For a moment, you believed that it was probably just some tree branches that had been disturbed by the midnight breeze, or maybe a bird, curious of its reflection.

But you also knew that you lived on the fifth floor, a long ways from any vegetation that grew on the sidewalk, and all the birds that lived in the area were strictly lively during the daytime.

_Tap, tap-tap, tap._

Then came a horrifying thought-- _there was someone outside_. All windows in the apartment complex came with a little balcony, albeit one too small for anyone to stand on. There was _no way_ that someone was currently there, knocking at your window.

You felt like a puppet, not in control at all, watching your body rise to its feet and make its way to the window that suddenly seemed so foreboding. Your hands felt cold and heavy as they grasped the long, scarlet curtains that promised privacy between your room and the rest of the world.

A heartbeat thudded in your ears, and it took a second before you registered it as your own. Fight or flight instincts were beginning to take over. You always were the paranoid type.

 _Like ripping off a band-aid,_ you thought. _Just get it over with._

And rip, you most certainly did. The curtain rods shrieked with the force you exerted, louder than the pounding beat of your heart. A part of you was grateful you were so violent in the act-you almost felt _brave_.

You searched the windowsill, and the world outside. As expected, it was completely dark; the usual little pinpricks of light you would recognize as street lamps were strangely muted, blurred even. The iron pillars looked bent and wavy. But all of that could have been your paranoid imagination-it was hard to see at all, with your reflection in the way. You opened the window.

A cool breeze hit your face, raising the hairs on the back of your neck and sending chills down your spine. You paused, but nothing happened. It was completely quiet.

Perhaps the stress had finally gotten to you; maybe you had just imagined it.

_“Good evening.”_

Except you hadn’t.

You blinked, and all of a sudden there was a _face_ , upside-down, right in front of yours. Your mouth opened, voice coming through as something between a gasp and a scream, before it was muffled by cool leather.

Whoever this person was, they were _fast_. In the split second after you were ambushed, they flipped over and onto their feet, right-side up now, landing perfectly on your balcony rail before leaning over to cover your mouth with one hand, and cup the back of your head with the other.

The shock of it all is enough to raise another subdued shout from you, but, luckily, not enough to stop you from raising your own hands, now curled into fists, to shove against the intruder’s chest.

There’s a grunt of subdued pain, (a man, you realize, with your fists against a flattened chest) and the intruder speaks once again.

“Calm down,” He says, in a calm, even tone that betrays none of the pain you undoubtedly just caused. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

You can only blink, completely frozen, clenched fists still pressed against the chest of this strange man. Questions and screams spill from your mouth, crazed and probably panicked--but judging by the way one of his eyes slant, there was a big chance he didn’t understand a word of it. His stupid leather gloves--a bold, bright _red_ against his all-black attire--muffle your voice and make you sound like an idiot.

The wind blows, frosty and stinging on your bare skin, causing more bone-rattling shivers to run up and down the length of your arms and spine. You must’ve looked like an icicle, but the wind is definitely kinder to the stranger--billowing the twin tails of the long coat he’s wearing.

True to his word, he hasn’t attempted to mug or murder you yet, so now’s a good time as any to acknowledge the, to be completely frank, ridiculous _Halloween costume_ this guy is wearing in late May. The gloves and the coat stood out to you, sure, but he’s also got some kind of turtleneck vest on underneath his coat, with little silver buttons that hold it together. His trousers and shoes are both completely black as well, but the boots he’s got on have pointed toes, reminding you of a jester, or a clown.

In a different circumstance, you would have thought that he looked like a character straight out of those superhero anime you used to watch as a kid.

He would have probably been your favorite character.

“Let’s go inside,” He offers, “before you catch a cold.”


	2. Countless Questions

Your window-hanging, jester-looking, intruding Halloween stranger has silver eyes. They glint and gleam in the dim light of the late evening, behind a white face mask-the kind you used to see in those dramatic operas your grandmother would drag you to as a child. 

You notice these eyes as he _flips_ from your balcony and through your window, with all of the grace and poise of a competitive gymnast, before turning to face you fully. For all you know, he could be-you made a mental note to do an online search of local robbers and intruders with a known history of gymnastics.

Casually, as though he hadn’t just barged into your home via a perfect backflip through your terribly dull apartment window, he places his hands in his trouser pockets. 

“That was a close call,” He murmurs, more to himself than to you, as he glances towards your bedroom door from the corners of his eyes. “If it wasn’t for this safe room…”

Something about his casual nonchalance of this whole situation-the not mugging or murdering or doing anything equally horrible to you-allows clarity and intelligibility to resurface to the forefront of your mind. You spin on your heel and snatch the lamp on your bedside table, yanking it right out of the electrical socket. It was a moving-in gift from one of your neighbors, a nice lady named Hana, who used to occupy the flat right beside yours. Your landlord, that wicked Nakamura, kicked her out of the complex the month before. She couldn’t afford to pay. 

In absolutely any other circumstance, you would feel horrible about planning to break such a thoughtful gift, but you found solace in the fact that Hana’s gift was about to be put to a much better use. You raised it high over your shoulder, like a major league baseball player up at bat. 

Silver eyes dart your way, and go a bit wide beneath the mask.

“Get back!” You yell, grip tightening on Hana’s lamp until your knuckles turn pale from the strain. “You come any closer and I’ll smash this thing over your goddamn head.”

The blatant hostility you manage to convey to him doesn’t go unnoticed on his behalf. His hands, _you still can’t get over those stupid bright red gloves_ , leave the shelter of his pockets to make a sort of lame ‘calm down,’ gesture at you. Which is stupid, you sure as hell are not going to calm down, because he’s technically the one who broke into your apartment. 

“Look,” He says, with a voice far more steady than yours, “I already told you that I’m not here to hurt you. You don’t have to be afraid.”

The noise that is torn from your throat at his too-normal, his too-calm demands is somewhere between an enraged snarl and an unconvinced guffaw. It’s not unlike the sound a frightened hyena would make, and there’s a subtle little twitch at the corner of the man’s mouth when he hears it. You’re hardly embarrassed, and you certainly don’t make any attempt to correct your composure. This guy is a goddamn intruder; your manners and reputation can hit the road.

“You honestly expect me to believe that?” You take a step back, to put more distance between you and him, and barely note the hard wooden edge of your nightstand digging into your hip. 

He shrugs, hands still up and trying to make calming gestures. 

“Guess you’ll just have to take my word for it. But I’m not here to hurt _you_ , promise.” 

You open your mouth to tell him off again, but something about the emphasis he put on _you_ , when he said it, makes you take a pause. Your grip eases up slightly on the lamp-whether from shock or the strain it was putting on your fingers, you don’t know. 

“But you are here to hurt somebody, aren’t you?”

His hands return to his pockets, slowly. “Nobody who doesn’t deserve it, I promise.” 

“What is that even supposed to mean? Who even _are_ you?” 

He doesn’t answer either of your questions, humming thoughtfully. “You’ve been living in this apartment complex for a while now, right? That would mean you pay rent to Nakamura Satoshi.”

The mention of your hideous landlord, someone a lot more threatening to you than this jester punk, makes you drop the lamp down to your hip. 

Nakamura’s name, the costume, how he managed to climb through your window...You’ve connected the dots. _You’ve connected them._

“Do...do you live around here or something?” You manage a laugh. “That’s what this is all about isn’t it-you planning on robbing Nakamura in a costume to get him to stop taking all of our money? Like _Batman?_ ” 

“Nope, not Batman-and you’ve got it all wrong.” He chuckles a bit at your inane trail of thought. “I don’t live anywhere close to here. Lemme ask you this, though: you ever heard of the _Phantom Thieves?_ ” 

“Quit making me ask so many questions.”

His chuckle blurts out into a full-blown laugh. 

“Okay then...look, we’re a team who runs around all over Shibuya trying to find corrupt adults and change their hearts. A... _fan_ of ours made a website where people could tell us about persons of interest and we’d decide if the cause was worth a change of heart.”

Any trace of laughter you once had is gone. Your brow furrows, and you nearly drop the lamp in disbelief.

“ _What._ ”

“I said, we’re a team who-”

You jerk up your hand to silence him. “No, I heard what you said, I just-the _Phantom Thieves_ ? Like, the ones who sent that highschool gym teacher to prison? Are you a _kid_?”

His silver eyes go a little hard, and the amused little twist of his mouth turns downward, into a petulant frown. It’s exactly the face a highschool kid would make when they realized that they’re being called a kid, and the whole ludicrosity of it all- _a cosplaying highschool kid backflipping into your apartment bedroom at eleven o’ clock in the evening_ -very nearly cripples you with laughter. 

“Yeah, laugh it up, lady.” He scowls harder at you. “And here I was, about to tell you everything.” 

Breathless, you wipe a tear from your eye. “I-what? Tell me everything-you’ve already told me everything! Go home, already, kid. Maybe you can convince a broke gym teacher, but you can’t convince Nakamura. Guy’s wound up tighter than a two-dollar watch, with security to match.” 

The kid, because now you have something to call him in your mind other than _intruder_ or _bad guy_ , hums thoughtfully at you, but, otherwise, doesn’t give you any indication of a response. 

He doesn’t make any indication to leave, either. You suppose you have a guest now. 

You put the lamp back down on your nightstand. “Hey, you said something about a website. Who told you about this place, and Nakamura, anyway? Not many people care enough to get back at him like this anymore.”

“Usually, the notes are anonymous.” He utters, “But this time, we got a name-Suzuki Hana. She used to live in this complex.”

“Yeah, I-yeah. She lived right next door.” You chuckle a bit. “Siccing a team of costumed vigilantes on our landlord, though? Good for her.” 

The kid looks like he wants to say more, but suddenly noises erupt in the hallway beyond your bedroom door, crystal-clear through the paper-thin walls. You used to be able to hear full conversations between your neighbors from time to time, before all of them got evicted. 

But those voices don’t sound like your friendly neighbors-they sound like growls, animalistic and carnal. Inhuman noises that could have been straight out of one of the horror movies in your television cabinet. A shiver runs down the column of your spine, and you subconsciously reach out for the kid. 

“What the hell was-”

“As nice as this safe room is,” He interrupts, coming closer to you. “We can’t stay here forever. Mona should be with Skull somewhere on the second floor; maybe he can explain all of this better to you than I can.”

“ _We?_ ” You echo, “Kid, I’m not going anywhere. I have shit to do!”

His mouth twists into a wicked little grin. “I doubt you’d get good wifi here in the Metaverse, but you can try if you’d like.” 

He snatches your wrist and begins to tug you along to your door. 

You try not to go along too willingly. You can still hear strange noises beyond the door.

“What kind of names are Mona and Skull anyway? _Code names?_ ”

His grin doesn’t falter. It’s a little unnerving. “Something like that. You can call me Joker, for now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was like, 70% dialogue, sorry.  
> i feel like this is less of a test of how well i can write and more so a test of how well i can understand a character. akira, as joker, anyway, is so damn hard to write for jesus. he's only got like a handful of voiced dialogue in game.  
> u guys let me know how u feel about this so far!


	3. The Prison Cell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You reflect on Nakamura, your problems, and a strange dream that's been haunting you recently...
> 
> On your own time, though. Not with the weird cosplay kid whose got the power of God and anime on his side.

_It has been said to you-by your father, your grandfather, your peers, your coworkers, your employers, and any other person with any kind of social standing in your life-that money makes the world go round. No one can sustain themselves without it._

_Nakamura Satoshi made it very apparent that he had the same ideology when you confessed that you needed more time to be able to afford rent._

_“Wait, Nakamura-sama! A month, please! That’s all I need, I promise.” You had chased him down through long, endless corridors to catch him before he locked himself in his office for the rest of the day. You had known that, if you had caught him a second too late, he would have blown you off like a plume of unwanted smoke and spent the rest of his working hours ignoring calls and emails._

_Speaking of which; a puff of cheap cigarette smoke engulfed your face. It had taken everything in you to hold your ground and your breath, and not start a fit of violent coughing._

_Your landlord had regarded you with a pursed visage of ill-hidden disdain. You recognized that look-you often make the same face when you spot a particularly nasty cockroach in your bathtub._

_“Alright, then. You want a month, you’ve got a month.”_

_“Oh, thank you-!”_

_“But,” He interrupted you, as his hand rose to pluck the cancer stick from in between his pudgy lips, and held it before his face while he regarded it with feigned interest, like it had been far more important to him in that moment than you were. “you owe me double.”_

_It feels like the hand that lifted you up from the ground when you were at your lowest point, only to sock you right in the gut once you had gotten up and on your feet again. The wind felt like it had been knocked from your chest._

_“Double? But...but Nakamura-sama, with the job that I have…”_

_“So what?” He had snapped, in his thick Kansai drawl. “Quit your job, then. Go find a new one. Just find a way to make me my money.”_

_You had held your breath the whole time, feeling that red-hot fire course up and down your body, like lava, from the back of your throat to the pit of your stomach. Your fists clenched. A layer of sweat had begun to build up on the back of your neck._

_Your next words had come out through strained breaths. “It took me...months to get the job I have now. If I quit, there’s no way I’ll be able to find another job that pays more in time. I already work minimum wage; I just can’t get that much money together in under a month!”_

_Nakamura stopped at his office door, and glanced over his shoulder at you, lazily, like a cat that couldn’t be bothered. That’s when you realized: he knows, he absolutely knows you can’t, you're a prisoner, you’re trapped, you’ve always been trapped-_

_“Not my problem, kiddo. Double in a month,” He had already produced another cheap, nasty cigarette pack open and in hand when he answered you, and smacked it on his wrist to get a single stick out. His teeth snatched it away-he didn’t even bother to light it. “or you’re evicted.”_

_He had left you alone in the hallway without another word._

* * *

_You had dreamed that night. Which, in hindsight, wouldn’t have been anything out of the ordinary; after long, perilous days such as that one, you were often plagued with terrors in the night that both haunted and exhausted you. But what made that dream so unique, so easily distinguished from any other, was that you remembered it._

_You wished you could forget; a weightless feeling, like falling, pervaded your body. A veil of blackness invaded your sight, tinged a dreamy blue at the edges. You felt blistering heat and numbing cold all at once, and a tightness over your face, like a mask that needed to be ripped off. Wet, thick droplets of hot blood seeped out from beneath the edges, like some form of nightmarish tears, and a voice that echoed in your mind, reverberating off the walls of your skull so you couldn’t tell where it was coming from:_

_“...I am thou, thou art I…”_

_And then, you woke up. You told yourself that you would eventually forget it._

_You told yourself that nearly every night over the course of those next weeks, afraid of the dream and what it could do to your mind if you gave in._

* * *

"Hey, kid? Whatever drugs you're on, you should probably get off of them. Preferably sometime in the near future. Or now."

The kid, _Joker_ , you remembered, had answered a few more of your urgent questions regarding whatever was going on in the hallways, let go of your wrist, which you were grateful for, to brace both of his gloved hands against your bedroom door, crouch down on his haunches, and gently push the door open until the smallest sliver of light peeked through. He was so goddamn weird. 

"Drugs?" He mumbled, distracted by whatever creepy thing was lurking beyond your bedroom door. "I'm not on any drugs."

You fold your arms over your chest. "Actually, I'm pretty sure you are. Because I know damn well this complex is no Palace."

In the few seconds or so before he zoomed towards the bedroom exit, the two of you heard another noise; you freaked out and tried to jerk away, while Joker cursed and quickly muttered something about this being a _weird Palace_.

From his crouched position, you hear him huff out a breathy laugh. "I didn't mean that literally. Palace is just a term we use for the physical manifestation of all of a person's negative, toxic thoughts and emotions. Pretty simple stuff, really." 

You glare at the top of his mop of frizzy black hair. "And this Palace only exists in this...Metaverse? Not reality?"

"That's right."

You have the sudden urge to give the back of his head a heavy, downward smack.

"Right. Palace. Not drugs. _Suuure_. Whatever you say, kid." 

"It's Joker." He insists. Then, after a brief pause, "I never got your name."

You push down the fear that you could possibly be giving your legal name to a possible crackhead, and hesitantly tell him. He says it once or twice after you do, thoughtfully. You assume he's just trying to get the pronunciation down.

"So, what do you see out there, anyway?" 

He answers your question by rising to his full height, a pretty impressive height for a kid his age, although that's not saying much, considering your lack thereof, and slowly pushing the door open until he can fit his whole head out there. He looks both ways down each side of the hallway, and you're briefly reminded of a wary rabbit, easing its way out of the burrow while keeping an eye out for predators. 

"Well?" You urge. 

Joker looks back over his shoulder at you, a grin settling upon his lower face. "Shadow's gone. Coast is clear."

Then, in a flurry of black fabric and surprisingly well-coordinated lanky limbs, he leaps from the doorway. You rush outside to follow him, half expecting to see him dashing at breakneck speed down the corridor. Instead, however, you see the kid flattened against the wall beside your door, like a damn _pancake_ , back against the wall, knees bent, with those stupid gloved palms pressed flat on either side of him. 

You heave a weary sigh and step outside your apartment, closing the door behind you like a sensible person. You don't have to worry about locking it behind you-there are no neighbors left on your floor to try and break into your apartment.

You spare another glare at your costumed companion. You've already suffered your limit of break-ins for one night. 

"Remind me why I'm following you again?"

He inches along the wall like he's traversing along the side of a building. Despite the hard sole of his pointy shoes, you briefly notice how he doesn't make a sound. 

"I'm going to meet up with my friends on the fourth floor. And you're coming with me." 

"What? Why?"

He lifts himself up from the wall to approach you, placing his hands in his pockets. There's a strange light in those silver eyes of his, something not quite so light and amused anymore, but not so terribly _serious_ , either. It's almost like he's searching for something in you. Whatever that something is, you're not entirely sure if it exists within you. Or if it does, you're not sure if you should freely offer it up to him. 

"Random people don't appear in the Metaverse, or in Palaces, for no reason. And if you're here, that means you probably got the navigator app on your phone, just like me and others did. The Phantom Thieves...we've all changed for the better because of our experiences with Palaces. I don't know you too well, but I'll bet you'll change for the better, too." He mumbled. 

Once again, you were thrown off guard by this weird kid. Not only had that been the most you've heard him say all at once all night, but he had also only gotten to know you for, what, a little less than an hour? And already the two of you were having a sincere heart-to-heart? Your night had already been, and was still continuing to be, confusing and exhausting as all get out. You were not going to allow this sassy, lost child to start talking about his feelings and add on top to all the mess he's caused so far. 

You take exactly two steps away from him. 

"Look, kid, that's really nice and everything, but I really didn't follow you out of my apartment so that I could be changed 'for the better,'. I just wanted an excuse to get out of working for the night. No offense. You've got a good mentality in that brain of yours, though." 

You hoped that was the right thing to say. 

Joker tilted his head somewhat, opened and closed his mouth a few times. Eventually, he heaved a tired sigh of his own and shook his head, black fringe flying over his forehead. A lazy smile twisted his lips, and he stuffed his hands in his pockets. 

"Alright. Suit yourself, lady. You are still coming with me and my friends, though."

You guffawed in disbelief. "After I said all that, you still- _why?_ "

He shrugs, a couple shiny white teeth poking out from under his top lip as his grin widened. "Because I said so. And, also, because the Palace collapses when we steal someone's Treasure. Which can only happen before the change of heart, by the way." 

You let fly a long, droning curse and slump against the concrete wall. Which, you notice when you're finished groaning, isn't supposed to be concrete at _all_. You spin on your heel and throw your hands forward to pat in bewilderment at your complex's new wallpaper job. _What the hell?_ , you think, eyes wandering sideways, and notice how your wooden apartment door juts out from the concrete, like it's the thing in this unfamiliar hallway that doesn't belong. You reach out and poke your doorway-

Only to gasp and throw yourself backwards when the damn thing _ripples_ and _bends_ , as if you're looking at a reflection of your door on the surface of a pool of water. 

"No way," You breathe, and, with a heavy desire for clarity, bolt down the opposite end of the hallway, making a beeline for the space where Hana used to live. Somewhere, in the back of your mind, you register Joker's voice calling your name in surprise. You don't really care to answer him; you skid to a halt in front of your neighbor's previous home, the friction slightly burning your socked feet, and your breath is taken from you when you look upon her door.

Well, lack of a door, really. It's gone, vanished out of thin air, replaced by a pair of long, metal bars. The size of it is smaller than your bathroom now, too-the bars allowed you to see a filthy, grimy toilet, a molded futon, and a single chain, with its ends bolted to the wall. 

A prison cell, you realize, vaguely tasting bile in the back of your throat. 

Your eyes find Joker's; he's got that unreadable look on his face again, and you want to grab him by the collar of his stupid cosplay coat and toss him back and forth like a _ragdoll_ until he does something other than _stare at you in silence._

"Joker," You say, with a voice hoarse, like sandpaper. "what the hell is going on here?"

He walks forward to meet you at your side, lifting a hand from his pockets to gently knock on the metal bars. 

"I already told you. This place isn't your complex anymore; it's a Palace, and Nakamura has envisioned it to be his own personal solitary confinement prison."

"A prison?" You reflect, feeling as hollow as the empty cell before you when you hear the echo of your voice bounce off of the concrete walls. 

He nods, and places his hand back into his pocket. "I'll bet this means that all he sees his tenants as are prisoners. More than likely, he thinks of himself as the warden."

"That's..." You trail off, and feel your hands clench into fists.

You're reminded of that one encounter with Nakamura, a few weeks back. The dream that followed you in your sleep that same night. 

_"...I am thou, thou art I..."_

You steel yourself, take a deep breath, and count to ten. You meet Joker's gaze in the midst of all of this insanity. 

"Alright. Let's go meet up with your Phantom Thieves."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you: cosplaying is gross  
> joker: stop kinkshaming me  
> you: kinkshaming is my kink
> 
> i reloaded my a03 tab this morning and had a small aneurysm when i saw that ambush had gotten like 120 hits or smth. i finally understand why lots of fanfic writers encourage comments and kudos on their work, its like an instant shot of heroin injected directly into the bloodstream. if u do comment on my work, ill try my best to respond to each and every one (unless u dont want me to respond, then just add a lil note somewhere and ill know ;D)
> 
> im also tempted to make some illustrations of certain parts in the chapters. but that will probably take me a while, even while in quarantine, ngl. already working on a playlist that matches this fic to listen to to get my dumbass motivated.


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